


If You Took My Place

by VenetaPsi



Category: Just Roll With It (Podcast)
Genre: Alternative Reality for Arc 1 Ep 19, Angst, Brotherly Angst, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Gen, Heavy Angst, Main Character Sylnan, Not A Fix-It, POV Sylnan, Protective Older Brothers, what if
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24804319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenetaPsi/pseuds/VenetaPsi
Summary: Sylnan jolted to the side, fingers clawing at the ground where his dagger had fallen from his hand. He scooped up the handle, clamoring to his feet as he lurched to the side, throwing all of his body weight into a single stab aimed straight at the orc’s juglar.The blade plunged into the blue skin of the creature’s neck, blood bubbling around the cold steel as Sylnan drove it deeper; pushed harder and twisted, watching as those furious black eyes met his own; blazing even as the orc slowly went still.He didn’t pull back until the body began to fall, lifeless, to the floor.
Relationships: Br'aad Vengolor & Sylnan Vengolor, Hilltree & Sylnan Vengolor
Comments: 18
Kudos: 83





	If You Took My Place

Sylnan was panicking. 

He could feel it in the shake of his legs as he stumbled backwards, Br’aad limp and unconscious in his arms. The blue orc smiled at him; low and menacing from ten feet away despite the blood pouring from his body, and Sylnan had never wanted someone dead so badly in his life. 

The sewer tunnels were dank and dark, and even with his darkvision Sylnan was struggling to see; didn’t know if it was his racing mind or the genuine shadows that were fogging his vision even as he stumbled back blindly, watching the orc approach, his brother heavy in his arms. 

The orc stepped forward right as Br’aad stirred, causing Sylnan to look down with a surprised jolt as his brother lurched up, tumbling from his arms. Sylnan scarcely had time to raise his eyes before the scimitar was plunging up towards him, tip ramming forward into his chest. 

Except the only pain Sylnan felt was that of his head and back smashing into the cold stone ground as he was knocked sideways, a heavy pile of limbs and lean weight falling on top of him and rolling to the side as Sylnan heaved for air; stared up into the eyes of an orc who looked as shocked as the half-elf felt, second scimitar still raised. 

Sylnan jolted to the side, fingers clawing at the ground where his dagger had fallen from his hand. He scooped up the handle, clamoring to his feet as he lurched to the side, throwing all of his body weight into a single stab aimed straight at the orc’s juglar. 

The blade plunged into the blue skin of the creature’s neck, blood bubbling around the cold steel as Sylnan drove it deeper; pushed harder and twisted, watching as those furious black eyes met his own; blazing even as the orc slowly went still. 

He didn’t pull back until the body began to fall, lifeless, to the floor. 

Sylnan stepped back, chest heaving, and his whole body was shaking as he looked down at himself; covered in slash marks and drenched in blood. Almost as though realizing, he glanced towards the side, back where he’d fallen, and his entire body went cold. 

Br’aad was sprawled motionless on the ground. His back was to Sylnan as he lay on the side, red cloak fanned out across the cobbles behind him almost like a draped blanket. Sylnan hadn’t even realized he was moving until he was kneeling at Br’aad’s side, his dagger falling to the floor with a discarded ‘clang’ as he gently reached for Br’aad’s shoulder, rolled him over as carefully as he could. 

Br’aad’s body moved pliantly under Sylnan’s touch, and Sylnan felt his throat clench tight when his hand grew warm; watched as red sunk into his white glove. 

“...Br’aad?” He whispered, staring down at his brother’s unconscious, bloody form; at the crawlingly slow rise and fall of his chest. There was a deep slash across Br’aad’s front; tearing through his jacket and shirt and dripping a steady stream of crimson that had dyed his blue clothes a brownish-black. Sylnan leaned forward, hands instinctively moving to press against the wound as he stared down at Br’aad’s blank face and closed lashes; as his head lolled to the side and spilled his blonde hair across the dark stone. 

Sylnan was shaking. 

“Br’aad, come on- don’t- you have to get up,” Sylnan begged, and he felt numb and cold and stiff, as though he were frozen. Blood was spilling out across the ground, catching the ending strands of Br’aad’s hair, sinking into the gold. A deep brown had stained his cloak. Fuck. Sylnan couldn’t heal. 

The rogue looked around in a panic, breath coming in short pants, but the tunnel was bare; only the cooling corpse of the orc and his abandoned scimitars to be seen. Sylnan looked down again, and realized suddenly that it was very,  _ very _ hard to breathe. 

He reached up and fumbled with the button of his cloak. His trembling fingers were too clumsy, and so he pulled his gloves off with his teeth; the taste of copper flashing across his tongue before he managed to undo the clasp and pull the cloak from his shoulders. He reached out towards Br’aad's red cloak and pulled it tight around his body before wrapping his own around that, focusing on the act of wrapping and tying knots and not that his brother was bleeding out, his brother he’d  _ just gotten back wasn’t moving, was scarcely breathing- _

“Don’t- don’t die on me, okay Br’aad? You can’t.” Sylnan exhaled shakily and climbed to his feet, reaching out to shove his dagger back into his sheath before he scooped Br’aad up in his arms. 

Br’aad’s body was awkward dead weight, but strangely light in Sylnan’s arms as the rogue stumbled down the tunnels, leaving the orc behind in favor of moving as quickly as he could towards the nearest exit. His mind was in such overdrive that Sylnan wasn’t even sure he himself was moving; his brain felt fried and he was dizzy; moving blindly on instinct. 

His mind was brought back suddenly to a moment years ago; to walking through the woods in a far younger body, with a sniffling Br’aad in his arms. 

_ “It hurts!” _

__ _ “It’s just a twisted ankle, Br’aad, we’ll wrap it when we get home.” _

__ _ “It  _ hurts,  _ Sylnan!” _

__ _ He rolled his eyes and looked down at the pair of teary green ones that peered up at him imploringly.  _

__ _ “I’m carrying you, aren’t I?” _

__ _ Br’aad’s pout split into a wide grin, and he nuzzled down into Sylnan’s shoulder, like he might just take a nap. Something in Sylnan’s chest loosened; the fear he’d felt at seeing Br’aad fall from the tree melting into a warmer, softer feeling.  _

__ _ “...I have sticks and mud in my hair now.” _

__ _ “Oh do shut up, Br’aad.” _

__ _ The younger began to giggle as Sylnan kept walking through the edge of the forest, the first glances of the Wharf becoming visible through the trees.  _

Sylnan let out a ragged exhale as he rounded a corner and spotted a narrow stairwell going up. He ran towards it and took the rough stone steps two at a time, glancing down frequently at Br’aad’s still, wrapped form. His heart clenched. 

“Fucking- fucking fuck,” He ground out, and his voice sounded high and scared even to his own ears as he dug his shoulder into the trapdoor at the top of the stairway, pushing it upward and forcing his body through the gap and into the small hut above. “Stay-stay with me, Br’aad.” 

He launched himself towards the door and stumbled out onto the street, momentarily blinded by the bright light. 

Sylnan knew how he must look; bursting out of a tiny home, bloodstained and wild with a body in his arms. Impressions mattered to him; his whole life revolved around making good ones and lying when one was needed. Now though he felt naked; emotions on display for all to see, his carefully constructed mask shreds at his feet. 

He needed Velrisa. 

He needed  _ help. _

“HELP!” Sylnan yelled to the street and the people walking on it, dropping to his knees in the shade of a nearby building, lowering Br’aad down into the grass. His arm ached, a dull pulsing wracking through his body. He ignored it, bending over his brother’s form, pressing his hands against the wound desperately. 

Br’aad’s face was pale; nearly white, and Sylnan could see beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. His unconscious body was trembling slightly, and as Sylnan clawed the cloak out of the way, he was met with the horrible reek of copper. There was too much blood. The cloaks were practically soaked. 

Someone knelt at Sylnan’s side, and he didn’t look at who they were. Didn’t care really, especially when they lent forward and pressed their hands beside Sylnan’s, applied more pressure to the wounds. 

Sylnan’s eyes burned, and somewhere in the back of his mind he realized he was crying. 

He was...crying.

The man who had answered his cry for help bent closer, began to try and wrap the cloaks around Br’aad’s form almost like bandages. The material was too thick and loose, but he tried, and Sylnan couldn’t do anything but sit there helplessly, hands stained in blood, tears pouring down his cheeks; watching Br’aad’s cheeks steadily grow whiter in the fading sunlight. 

Even before the man paused and leaned back, looked over at him with fearful eyes, Sylnan knew Br’aad was gone. 

He’d watched his chest stop moving; his face leached of all color, his body drained of too much blood. 

He felt cold. Frozen. His hands were clenched around Br’aad’s limp fingers, and the skin was unnaturally cool against his. 

_ “Your hands are so  _ cold, _ Sylnan.” _

__ _ “Yeah, well not everyone can be a furnace like you, brat.” _

__ _ The little face pouted mockingly, reaching forward to press his small, warm palms against Sylnan’s cheek.  _

__ _ “At least the ‘brat’ won’t freeze to death!” Br’aad cackled before turning and running from the room. Sylnan watched him go, fighting to keep his lips from twitching.  _

__ Sylnan sat there, numb. Drained of all energy, breath shuddering in horrible, ragged gasps as his collar grew wet, as his cheeks burned from the trails running down them. 

Br’aad looked unnatural in death; his normally smiling face lax and blank. His purple eyes closed, hidden behind pale skin and dark lashes. 

His hair sprawled out unnaturally against the grass. 

Sylnan reached out a trembling finger; one hand leaving Br’aad’s to reach out and catch a strand of blonde hair that had tumbled across his cheek. He brushed it back shakily, tucking it behind one of Br’aad’s pointed ears. 

_ “You don’t think there’s anything wrong with my ears?” He sniffled.  _

__ _ Sylnan lent forward, catching his small hand in his own.  _

__ _ “I think your ears are lovely.” _

The sob forced its way from Sylnan’s lips; tore itself free and his body ached. His left arm and shoulder burned. 

_ “I DON’T JUST WANT TO BE SOME FUCKING  _ PIXIE _ , SYLNAN!” _

__ He broke. 

Sylnan collapsed forward; blinded by tears as horrible cries he never would’ve thought himself capable of making wracked his body. He reached out, pulled Br’aad closer; cradled the limp body of his brother,  _ his little brother, _ in his arm, hand tangled in the long golden hair as he rocked back and forth and sobbed; blind to the world. 

He heard voices at one point; familiar voices but he didn’t care. It didn’t matter, Br’aad was gone. God he was a failure. A pathetic excuse of an older sibling. He cradled Br’aad closer, bent his face until he was sobbing into the soft fabric of Br’aad’s jacket. He couldn’t even save his own family. 

A small hand settled on Sylnan’s shoulder, and though he didn’t look up, he heard the rough, tiny voice of Hilltree. 

“S-Sylnan…?”

It took a few seconds for the rogue to lift his head. Even then his body felt heavy and stiff, and he could hardly meet Hilltree’s eyes through the tears filling his own. 

Sylnan could see Taxi and Velrisa standing a ways behind the goblin, faces slack with shock. 

Hilltree stared at him, and Sylnan tried not to shiver; tried not to think of Br’aad even as tears dripped down onto his brother’s corpse. 

Hilltree’s arms enveloped him; wrapped tightly around his shoulders as the little goblin leaned closer in an affectionate way Sylnan didn’t even know he was capable of. Sylnan’s face was buried in the soft cotton of the goblin’s shirt, and he began to cry anew as Hilltree hugged him tighter, Br’aad enveloped between them. 

“T-This is a-all my fault,” Sylnan whimpered, and Hilltree’s grip tightened tighter still. He could hear Velrisa and Taxi’s voices, but his mind wouldn’t focus on the words. 

“I’m sorry,” Hilltree whispered, and Sylnan had never heard him speak those words before; not softly, timidly, as confused as they were spoken now. “I-I’m sorry, Sylnan.”

Sylnan continued to sob as the sun sank below the horizon. 


End file.
